


The Start of the Road

by BrownieFox



Series: If At First You Don't Succeed [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby POV, But also not, Character Death, Gen, John POV, Pre-Series, Reunion, Stabbing, Time Travel, but he got better, demon kiddos mentioned, s4 ish events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieFox/pseuds/BrownieFox
Summary: Bobby doesn't expect the call.Then again, Sam and Dean weren't expecting to lose a father.OrJohn dies, comes back to life, and Dean meets and angel
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: If At First You Don't Succeed [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1364314
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

It’s strange, how one’s world can change in the blink of an eye. 

Hunters died all the time, but even Bobby had to admit that John Winchester had seemed immortal. John Winchester was a tough son of a bitch and - whether Bobby agreed with it or not - had raised two sharp sons who were nobody’s fools, who were better than some hunters twice their age. Bobby always told John that this life was going to get both him and the boys killed, but John’s vehement response that he and his boys were better than the rest, more careful than the rest, the exception to ‘the hunt kill all hunters’ rule had apparently at some point gotten through to Bobby enough that some part of him had started to believe it. 

So it came as a surprise when Sam called him, sobbing into the phone, and told him that John had died. 

Without a second thought, Bobby had dropped everything he was working on, didn’t bother getting somebody to watch the phones while he was gone, left books of half-translated text open on the table with half-finished sentences written on pieces of paper. Nothing had been more important than getting to the boys as soon as possible. 

They were still at the hospital. How they convinced the staff to hold off at getting a hold of child services to put them into an orphanage or something, Bobby wasn’t sure, but he definitely was grateful as all he had to do was walk through the doors before John’s - no,  _ his  _ two boys ran over to him and hugged him like their lives depended on it. It wasn’t a surprise coming from Sammy, who was always more open with his feelings than Dean was, always far more sensitive. But Dean, the teenager he was, almost a legal adult, came up after Sam, eyes red and raw from crying, and hugged Bobby and Sam, one arm around each. 

They said it was a car accident. Hit by a drunk trucker. The trucker had died in the crash. John Winchester had died in the hospital. Sam and Dean had bumps and bruises, including a cast on Dean’s arm. 

It took some careful maneuvering to get John’s body out of the hospital’s morgue, and Bobby insisted the boys didn’t come with him for that part. He wrapped up the corpse in a blanket and went out into a field with a shovel and salt and gasoline and a box of matches, a contact in the area able to get him a simple wooden coffin. He’d tried to keep the boys from following him then too, but they wanted to be there. 

Each of them took turns digging up the grave. It didn’t get to exactly six feet, but they got deep enough that when they put the dirt back it’d take some effort to dig up the man’s bones. Dean said some things about John, about how he’d miss him, about all he did for them and some of his fondest memories. Bobby recounted meeting the man as a newly fledged hunter, carrying a baby with one hand and a toddler leash in the other and needing references and research and a good night’s sleep.

Bobby was a professional at forging documents. He wasted no time in adoption papers.

About a month later, Seth stopped by with translations and ‘looking for a good meal’. He seemed oddly excited and happy when he saw Dean and Sam come in; the man had perked up while the impala had been pulling into the scrap yard, like he’d known it was the boys before they’d even entered the house, both wearing backpacks. The school was entirely within walking distance, but Dean insisted on driving the impala. 

(That was a bargain Bobby had had to strike. Dean had spent the first few weeks fixing the impala back up, and Bobby let him with the understanding that afterwards he would go back to school and finish up his senior year.)

“It doesn’t surprise me that John left Sam behind, but I would’ve thought Dean would insist on tagging along to wherever he is.” Seth had commented once the boys were upstairs. Neither had noticed Seth’s presence on their way home, too caught up in some kind of argument that had little actual heat in it. There’d been a dark cloud over them since the death of their dad, and Bobby had been patient with them. And sure enough, slowly but surely, they both seemed to be getting better. Happier. 

“John won’t be coming around any more.” Bobby said gruffly. His feelings hadn’t changed about the man, dead or alive, and while he was sad the boys had had to go through the death of a parent - Dean for a second time, Sam old enough to remember this one- a small part of Bobby whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason. 

“Didn’t know you could call child services on somebody who bounces around like that.” Seth replied, eyes shooting up to the top of his head. 

“Not that,” Bobby said, not sure sure whether to laugh or curse or consider how Seth, who had few strong connections other than Bobby and a few other notable hunters, always seemed well-versed in all things Winchester, “He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” Seth’s voice got quiet. He’d been holding his beer in one hand, but now he set it on the table and cradled it in both, looking at it with a gaze that was hard to discern anything from. There was a long moment of silence between the two of them. They could hear Dean and Sam upstairs. By the thuds and thumps it was clear their argument had evolved into rough-housing. “How?” 

“Car accident, of all things.” Bobby shook his head. “You always expect to die in that line of work, but never to the normal things.”

“Where’d you bury him?” Seth asked. 

It was a weird question. 

There were only a few things Bobby knew about Seth. 

Seth was a Man of Letters, something nobody Bobby spoke to had ever heard of. Seth was an amazing translator, near-fluent in several dead languages. Seth definitely didn’t need Bobby’s help with translations as much as he acted like he did. Seth didn’t need to come down to Sioux Falls as often as he did. Seth would’ve made an amazing hunter. Seth was definitely a good Man of Letters, considering he was the only person that defined that role. And above all else, Seth was a good man. There wasn’t a week that went by where somebody wasn’t calling Bobby to tell him about the amazing not-hunter that had saved them from the jaws of death. 

So Bobby told Seth where he buried John Winchester.

“Don’t worry, I gave the man a proper hunter’s burial. Not sure if you did it different in your Man of Letter’s club, but I threw salt on the corpse and burnt it to a crisp.”

“I expected nothing less from the best.” Seth said. Bobby wasn’t sure he was the best, at least when it came to hunting, but the unconditional trust Seth had had for Bobby since the day they’d met had always warmed his heart. 

Seth left the next day.

Two months later, things get a little more complicated.

oOo

John woke up to darkness. There’s wood at every place his hand reached for. It’s a tight fit and he could almost still feel the hellfire licking his heels. His breath is hot and warm in the cold place he has found himself in.

He may not know where he is or how he got there, but he does know he’s not going to wait around for somebody to tell him. John expected to have to break his way out of the wooden box, but his first punch lifts the top of the and from there he just has to sit up, pushing the lid off to the side and squinting through warm sunlight, a stark contrast to the darkness he’d been in before.

There are a few things he realized once his eyes had adjusted to the sun: 1) the wooden box he was in was a coffin. Very bare-bones, but a coffin nonetheless. 2) he was six feet below ground level, but that six feet of dirt had been dug up so there wasn’t really buried. 3) There was somebody sitting at the edge of his grave. 

John had not met Seth Weston very often, though one tended to not meet any other Hunter very often. However, considering the amount of run-ins Bobby Singer as well as his own sons had had with Seth, it had always felt like Seth was going out of his way to avoid confrontations with John. Which, in all honesty, was somewhat fair, considering John had made it clear to the other hunter that he didn’t trust him in the slightest. If anything, Seth being here only confirmed that John was right to be suspicious.

“Nice to see you’re up.” Seth said, and it was hard to tell how much he actually meant that. Not much, if John was willing to bet. 

“What. Happened.” John said through gritted teeth as he completely tossed the coffin lid aside and started to make his way out of the grave, something he had become quite adept at over the years.

“How should I know. All I did was follow demon signs to this spot and find a dead man walking again. I suppose it must be a demon deal.” Seth said lightly and airly, as if he was discussing the weather, and John felt himself bristling. 

“My sons would never-” 

He was cut off from a bark of laughter that looked like it had surprised Seth himself. Seth just shook his head instead of explaining his laughter, but more than anything it just made John angrier and more frustrated at the man. By now he had managed to climb out of the grave and stare at the man and was thus reminded just how tall he was. That did nothing to improve John’s mood. He’d had many rough years in hell (and yet Seth looked the same as the last time John had seen him, but John had a theory what that was about) and was already in a very bad mood. 

“Speaking of your sons,” Seth finally said, “I can get you a ride up to Sioux Falls.”

“Sioux Falls?” John repeated.

“Somebody had to take them in. You really think Bobby would’ve let them get lost in the system?” Seth asked. John didn’t answer. He hadn’t even thought about child services. In all honesty, he would’ve expected the boys to stay in the family business (which they could’ve with Bobby), staying on the road, just with Dean behind the wheel rather than John. 

John wasn’t too happy about it, but he accepted. He hadn’t been buried with his wallet, after all, and he didn’t have a car, and while he could steal one he had to admit that he didn’t quite feel up to it. 

He wasn’t left with a single weapon on his person, but John flexed his hands and remained tense as he followed Seth to his car, ready to spring and attack the man if need be. The need never arose, however. 

The ride was long and quiet. John didn’t really want to talk to the other hunter, and the feeling was apparently mutual. The man did have good taste in music, at least, and at one point his mobile phone rang (something John had been considering getting himself if he had the chance) and he answered it with a lot of,

“I’m fine Andy,”

“I’m going to be gone for a bit longer, but I’ll stop by home soon,”

“Ansem, make sure you look after your brother,”

“Yes, Lily, I’ll pick you up some new gloves,”

And then finally,

“I love you all too, I’ll see you soon, bye.”

John couldn’t help his own surprise. It sounded like the famous hunter actually had some people he was close to, maybe even a family. Perhaps he had kids of his own. It would explain a bit of the man’s obvious attitude of ‘I know better of how to treat your own kids than you do’ the man practically radiated every time John talked to him. Bobby gave off much the same feel. 

They stopped a few times, for gas or to grab something to eat. Seth never complained once about what it was all costing him, which only made John impossibly more suspicious. He never seemed like he felt the need to make conversation, and John didn’t want to be the one to start one. John did notice the man glancing over his shoulder and much jumpier whenever they were stopped, which was much more in line with being a hunter. 

It was night when they finally reached Singer’s Salvage Yard. Seth stopped right at the gates, turned his car off, and stepped out. The dark made the lights on in Bobby’s house seem that much brighter. A beacon. His sons were in there.

Seth looked at the house, stood there staring at it. His head was tilted to the side, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking about, especially considering how little John knew about Seth. He didn’t know why he even cared, why he would wonder what was on the man’s mind, but he did. 

“Are you coming?” John asked, not entirely sure why he bothered.

“No.” Seth shook his head. Good, that was what John had wanted… right? “I have things I need to do. I’ll stop by again soon, though. Tell Bobby I still want any leads on Tricksters.” 

And Seth got into the truck. 

John sucked in a deep breath, aware of the man watching him as he made the long trek to the front door. 

He raised his hand and knocked.


	2. Back from the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sees his sons again.

After a rigorous testing of silver, iron, holy water, stepping through a demon trap, and oddly enough getting splashed with soap, Bobby seemed to believe that John was who he said he was.

“Alright boys, you can come out now.” Bobby called after the splashed soap had no effect on John. 

And there were John’s boys.

They looked just as he remembered them, a testament at how little time had passed here on Earth compared to the thirty years of literal hell John had endured. They both had weapons in hand: Dean was holding a sawed-off shotgun and Sam with a knife. Dean was still regarding John warily, gun up and easy to in case he needed to shoot. Sam’s knife had dropped as soon as he saw John, and he probably would’ve run straight over to him if it wasn’t for Dean’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

_ Good,  _ John thought,  _ Dean was still taking care of Sam.  _ Not that his son’s hesitance to accept it was him didn’t hurt, but it was better this way. 

“So, you gonna tell us what happened?” Bobby crossed his arms, not looking amused in the slightest. Still, it was better than Bobby’s initial reaction: nearly stabbing John in the heart. 

“Well, I died. Car crash. And then… the next thing I know, I’m waking up in a coffin.” John replied. He didn’t know if any of the others caught his hesitance, the slight pause as he considered whether to talk about Hell, what he’d seen, what he’d done. Maybe later he’d tell them, but for now he selfishly wanted to preserve any semblance of joyful reunion, or as close as he was going to get considering the circumstances. For now, ‘joyful’ was well off the mark but seeing his sons alive was really the best he could wish for. 

“Doesn’t give us much to go off of.” Bobby grumbled.

“There is one other thing.” John remembered, turning around and rubbing his neck before removing his hand and letting Bobby and the boys see it. He hadn’t seen it himself, but Seth had pointed it out during their drive and he could most definitely feel it. Seth had described as looking like a handprint seared onto John, thumb going off to one side of the neck while the rest of the fingers tried to wrap around the other side; it looked like somebody had tried to grab John or strangle him from behind. 

Bobby whistled at the sight and John felt the hunter’s hand ghost over the burn. 

“That’s quite the mark you’ve got there. Doesn’t bode well.” Bobby mumbled, seemingly more to himself than to John. 

“Any idea what did this?” 

And that’s the first words John has heard Dean say in thirty long and painful years. He hadn’t realized that Dean had gotten closer to get a better look at the mark but the talking had given his position away. John wanted to wrap him in a hug and talk to him and ask him a million questions, mind almost overflowing with them at this point, but he held himself back. There were bigger things to worry about and tearful reunions would be all null and void if John’s just going to drop dead again at the stroke of midnight or start eating his own son’s flesh. He shuddered at the thought, and for once was oddly glad that Bobby was here. If Jon did have some kind of negative reaction to being brought back, he knew Bobby wouldn't hesitate in putting a bullet through his head. 

They didn’t see eye-to-eye, but at the end of the day at least they could agree that they’d do what they could to keep the boys alive. 

“Nope, but we haven’t started looking yet.” 

Bobby pulled back and John turned around. John wasn’t great at reading people, worse at reading Bobby; he was aware, contrary to popular belief, that what he usually ended up seeing in Bobby’s expressions was what he expected to see. Bobby looked at John, and then his eyes darted over to Dean who was standing right to him, and then shook his head slightly.

“I’m going to get started on research, see what I can find out.” Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder as he left the kitchen, leaving John alone with his boys.

At first nothing was said. 

It was just John looking at his sons and his sons looking at him. 

“D-dad?” It came from Sammy. John nodded, and before Dean could stop him again Sam slipped around his older brother and ran headfirst into John, wrapping his arms around John tight-tight-tight and John let him. He knew he should be upset that Sam was so willing to accept it was him, that this kind of thing would get him hurt or killed on a hunt, and yet there was a soft part of him that went ahead and let Sam - let both of them - indulge in this moment of comfort. 

“Yeah Sammy, it’s me, I’m here.” John assured him.

“How’d you know where to find us?”

The moment was shattered by Dean, back to business, arms crossed, eyes not betraying any emotion. He’d put the shotgun down at least, but John didn’t doubt he’d already figured out several other backup plans if John attacked them. Good. That was the way things had always been, hadn’t it? Sam, just a little too soft to be a real hunter and Dean, always the model soldier. John had to admit that having both of those facts splashed in his face, on the receiving end of both, was the slightest bit disorienting.

(The outsider view? No, he wasn’t an outsider, this was his family.)

“I didn’t.” John pulled out of the hug and Sammy held onto John’s shirt for a second longer before somewhat reluctantly retreating back to standing next to Dean, who shifted to be back in front of Sammy again, “If we’re chasing suspicious leads, Seth Wesson showed up right when I ‘came back’. Drove me all the way here.” His distaste for the man probably wasn’t masked very well, but John really didn’t care. 

“Well, that’s, that’s fair, though.” Sam admitted with a shrug. “Seth was keeping us updated on some demons signs he’d been following down in that area. Whatever brought you back might’ve had to do with that, and lead him right to you?” He suggested. John didn’t reply. Still, even if it'd shown all the signs pointing towards where John was buried, there was something about it that didn’t sit well with him. 

How Seth had already dug up John’s grave and had just been sitting outside of it. Watching. Waiting.

“I gotta say, surprised you boys aren’t on the road.” John said and didn't miss how Sammy stiffened. Oddly enough, the same comment seemed to make something in Dean finally ease, a little bit of the suspicion finally giving way.

“Had a hard go afterwards; we might not’ve died, but we were still in that car crash. Bobby picked us up, took us up here. We’ve been healing up ever since. Going to school. Helping with phones and research.” Dean still sounded stiff, that kind of gruffness he got when interrogating someone on a case and they’re being particularly difficult. He had, however, finally walked over to the dining room table and sat down, Sammy following suit. John did so as well.

“Did you grab my journal?” Dean and Sammy nod. “Did you read it?” Dean hesitates, then nods. Sammy shook his head. “So then you know what I was hunting. And you stopped hunting it.”

“It’s… it’s not that simple.” Dean defended. 

“Isn’t it?” John didn't really want to start a fight, but if Dean knew what he’d been hunting this whole time, why he’d been hunting, and had just decided to let it go... 

“It’s not!” Dean insisted more forcefully, brow furrowing up. “I’ve been doing some research with Bobby’s stuff when I can, but I’m also still seventeen, dad.” It doesn’t sound like a defense that Dean would say, and after a moment John realized that Dean was probably repeating something somebody had told him.

“Hm.” John said, making his disappointment clear. Dean looked away and Sammy scooted his chair closer to Dean’s setting a hand on his brother’s arm. 

“Bobby and Dean both agreed that Dean’d mostly wait to go out on hunts until after senior year.” Sam said, and the sweetness he’d shown during their reunion had now faded somewhat, shoulders stiffening in preparation for an argument, to start into one of their too familiar fights. They were edging back into familiar territory.

“And what right does Bobby have to make a decision like that?” John asked.

Dean and Sam share a look. John wasn’t entirely sure when they’d started doing that, started having a silent language, silent entire conversations that John couldn’t hope to decipher. It had been a thing well before he was aware of it. Whatever was said, or rather unsaid, it ended with Dean standing up with a sigh and walking into the kitchen, starting to make hot cocoa and putting on a pot of coffee. 

If anything else was going to be said, it’s stopped by Bobby walking back in with a stack of books, spreading them out over the table. 

oOo

The hot cocoa was for Sammy.

Sammy didn’t like coffee. He said it was bitter and tasted bad and not worth whatever boost it was supposed to give you. He also said he’d read somewhere the coffee didn’t give you energy, but just stopped you from losing any, and if people thought they got some kind of suddenly alertness from it it was probably a placebo effect.

Well, Dean was damn well going to make most of the placebo effect if it gave him the energy to get through the night. 

Dean wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go. He had his dad sitting in front of him, alive and breathing and reading out of books and flipping pages and drinking his own cup of coffee. His dad, who he’d moured, who he’d cried over. Back again. Part of Dean still didn’t believe it was him, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the skin to melt off of Dad’s face and start trying to kill them or something, anything, anything to happen. 

John Winchester took another sip of coffee and wrote down a note, seemingly fairly at ease with the situation.

It was getting late, almost midnight. Sammy was already up in bed, taking the rest of his hot cocoa with him. It was a school night, after all; the last of the week, with tonight being Thursday and tomorrow being Friday. Sammy had looked torn about it around 10, constantly looking up from his mish-mash of homework and hunter research to stare at the steadily ticking clock. Bobby took the choice out of his hands by out-right telling Sammy to get to bed, and Sam on his part seemed thankful for it. 

Dean followed Sam up, assured him he’d fill him in in the morning about anything they found tonight, and rechecked the salt lines. Bobby had in turn followed him up the stairs, and Dean didn’t beg. That wasn’t what Dean Winchester did. But he did stand there, trying not to fidget while staring Bobby in the eyes.

“I’m not going to school tomorrow.” Dean had said firmly. 

“Going to school? Of course not!” Bobby scoffed, back of his hand briefly touching Dean's forehead, “You’ve got a fever over a hundred and were throwing up all night, I should hope you don’t go to school tomorrow!” Dean wasn’t able to stop the grin at that and didn’t try to anyway as Bobby reached forward and ruffled Dean’s hair. “‘Course, I’ll have your brother pick up any homework you’ll miss, and I expect it to be done in time.” 

“Yeah yeah.” Dean said, patting down his hair. “... thanks Bobby.”

“Well, I’d be a shame to not have one of the best Hunter’s I know on the case.” Bobby headed back downstairs. 

Dean stayed up a little longer. He’d never say it out loud, but he didn’t want his dad to know that he and Bobby had had a talk, small as it was. A talk about Dean going to school, about whether he should or shouldn’t, about Dean all but asking permission to stay home. 

Dean’s dad was alive, but so was his legal guardian. 

He never cared about ‘legal’ before, he shouldn’t this time.

Now he was sitting at the table with both Bobby and John, staring at pages of research and trying to focus. It was harder than it should be with Dean as on edge as he was. It felt like he was waiting for the right moment to strike, but there was no right time because it was just his dad, and it left Dean with pent up energy. 

“Well, If we’re at a loss as far as research goes, I have a friend who could help.” Bobby said with a sigh, shutting his book. So far they hadn’t found any leads. People didn’t come back from the dead. The end. Period. Full stop. Or at least, they didn’t come back like Dad had apparently come back. Whole, barely marked, seemingly himself through and through. There were supposed to be strings, there was supposed to be backlash, uncanny shit where John just barely didn’t seem like John.

But even all the things that brought people back to life _wrong_ and didn’t match up with John always had some kind of tell. Iron, silver, holy water, salt. There should be something. 

They had nothing. 

That’s probably why John looked up at Bobby, blinked a few times in consideration, and then said,

“Sure, what’ve you got?” 

“Her name’s Pamela, lives not too far from here. She’s a psychic, and when I hit some dead ends she can usually give me a push in the right direction.” Bobby explained. Dead raised his eyebrows at that. He was always surprised by the kinds of people Bobby knew, and just how many. Dad knew a lot of hunters, sure, but he introduced few to the boys and rarely called on them for help.

“A psychic?” Dad didn’t conceal his surprise. Bobby raised his eyebrows.

“You got a problem with that?” He challenged. John bristled slightly, but shook his head.

“No, I’ve known a few psychics in my days. Well worth our time.” John agreed, albeit a bit grudgingly. 

“In the meantime, I’ll call some other Hunter’s, see what they know.” Bobby said, almost musing to himself. 

“Hunter’s like Seth Wesson?” John asked. If he was trying to be casual about it, he failed pretty badly, but that could be forgiven considering the hour of the night and the fact that, again, John had come back from the dead. 

“Seth’s not a Hunter.” Dean pointed out before he could stop himself and then snapped his mouth shut with an audible click at the firm and disappointed look he got from his dad. Seth always made sure to make that point clear whenever somebody called him a Hunter. 

“He’s aware of the supernatural and he kills monsters, last I checked that was a Hunter.” John insisted. Dean had almost forgotten how much John hated Seth. Well, maybe not hated, but definitely didn’t like. Dean had never understood it, considering that Seth hadn’t done anything to raise any flags besides perhaps keeping sources and hunts and leads close to his chest; nothing that wasn’t common with other Hunters. If anything, Seth had been helpful, considering he’d saved John, helped with research whenever asked (and Dean had called and asked more than he’d ever tell John), saved Sam from whatever the hell had been going on with him, and other the past few months stopped by almost regularly.

There was something about Seth that made Dean trust him. If pressed, he might say it was almost instinctual. Apparently, John did not have the same feeling. 

“And he’s also the best collection of hunting information I’ve ever met.” Bobby said. “If anyone is going to know something, it’ll be him.”

“Of course it will be.” John growled under his breath not nearly quiet enough that Dean and Bobby wouldn’t hear it. “Well, on our front, are you going to set up something with your psychic friend or will she already know we’re coming?” Dean couldn’t quite tell if the comment was a jab or a joke or an honest question. 

“I’ll call her in the morning but I won’t be surprised if she says she already knew.” Bobby said. He sat up, stretching out and yawning. “You both can keep researching, I’m hitting the hay. Want to have a clear head if things end up going south.” Dean didn’t miss how Bobby said it while looking John in the eye. It was good to know he wasn’t the only waiting for the zombie card to turn flesh-eating. 

Bobby ruffled Dean’s hair again as he headed out of the kitchen and Dean rolled his eyes, tossing a ‘night’ over his shoulder. 

And Dean was left in the kitchen with his living and breathing dad.

He tried to focus once more on the tome in front of him, but the writing was too flowery, the writer clearly thinking that using big and fancy and mostly confusing words somehow made them smarter, and the restlessness that had plagued him all night was just as present as ever. 

“Been on any hunts?”

Dean didn’t flinch at John breaking the silence, he really didn’t. He just happened to have a chill run down his back at that exact moment, and to somebody else it might’ve looked like a flinch, but that wasn’t Dean’s problem if someone interpreted it incorrectly. 

“Yes sir.” He said, the title that Bobby absolutely refused to take coming easily when applied to John. 

“What’d you hunt?” 

“Nothing fancy, nothing far. A couple ghosts and a shifter.” Dean answered. He gave up the pretense of research to meet his dad’s eyes. John seemed honestly curious, but… well, Dean loved his dad but he also knew that  _ there was another shoe and it was going to drop.  _ Not the monster-part this time, rahter the dad-was-alive-and-Dean-is-living-in-a-house part. 

“Bobby take you out?”

“No sir. Bobby needed to stay back and handle phones, and Sam isn’t old enough to sound believable over them.” Dean repeated exactly what Bobby had told him. 

He didn’t want to sound like he’s bragging, like he’s trying to stave off the disappointment he knew must be there, like he’s trying to escape it. That’s was why he didn’t tell John that they were solidly  _ his  _ cases. Dean had been the one to find the leads, to do all the research, to head off investigations and pick out the monster and plan the right time over weekends to both gank it and stay caught up in his homework. 

“You went alone?” It was impossible to tell which answer John expected or wanted.

“No, I had back-up all three times. Other Hunters.” Where Dean knew a handful at most, Bobby was connected to - the beating heart of, really - a whole network of Hunters, and had found ones in the areas Dean had wanted to go to match him up with. Tamika, a Hunter just a couple years older that Dean who had encyclopedic knowledge and knack for electronics; Augustus, a man old enough to be his dad who gambled and bet over everything, lethal with throwing knives; Tim, a British arsonist that was scar-ridden with a dark sense of humor and his own personal on-going hunt. Their names and any useful contact information now sat in Dean’s wallet right next to Seth’s.

John nodded and Dean let his shoulder loosen at the approval. 

“And were any of them Seth?”

“No sir, none of them were in Kansas.” Really, it was amazing that Seth made the trip up to Sioux Falls as often as he did considering the distance. Sammy had been the one to actually ask the man about it during his last visit and Seth ahd chuckled, saying any distance was well worth it for Bobby's input and experience. 

John nodded again and digested the information. 

“And none of them had to do with the Demon.”

There it was, there was the trap, why John was still down here with Dean even thought they already had a plan. Dean was thankful that the waiting was over, but now came the tough part: figuring how to talk his way out of this one. 

Because Dean had read John’s journal, read everything John had learned about what had been in Sammy’s nursery that dreadful night, had lit up the house, had killed his mom. It wasn’t all clear, as much of it were dates and events described in only a handful of works. There was a list of names at one point, a list of monsters will all choices but one crossed out. Demon had been the only one left. And there were ways to track demon sightings, and ways to exorcize them, and what to look out for. 

“You already knew all that stuff and hadn’t found and killed it yet. I needed time to decipher what you had, make sure we were on the same page before trying anything.” Dean had been preparing that explanation (not an excuse, of course not an excuse) for John since they first sat down at the table.

“Are you sure you didn’t just forget about it.” John’s tone was flat, but the accusation was clear. Had Dean forgotten about Mary, about revenge, about the home and peace that had been taken from them. Had he forgotten what the whole point of the last fourteen years had been, about everything he’d been trained for.

“No sir. I haven’t done research into finding it, but Bobby is the foremost expert on demons. I’ve been able to compile other stuff that could help us when we do find it.” Bobby had been almost ecstatic when Dean had broached the subject of demons. Rare as they were, not many people needed help with them, and thus Bobby had all the knowledge in the world and nothing to do with it. 

Or, well, he used to have nothing to do with it. Demon sightings had grown at a worrying pace. At least there was Bobby’s network, and those Hunters could spread the information to others, and so on and so forth.

And with that, Dean got another nod from John that and almost fell out of his chair with relief. Yes, he’d done the right thing. He had his dad’s approval. 

He hadn’t even had to mention that he’d barely thought about trying to chase their family’s white whale. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT SO  
> I had this planned to be two chapters, but the second one keeps going on and on and I'm breaking it up into another chapter now. That'll probably be out soon. Another reminder that there might be big breaks between parts but I very much want to finish this series


	3. The Angel of the Lord

Sam looked only a little sad that he wouldn’t be taking part in the research. In fact, if Bobby had to guess, Sam was probably sadder about not meeting Pam - a very real psychic - than not finding out the cause when everyone else did. 

All three of them saw Sammy off in the morning. He hugged Dean, John, and Bobby in that order, smiling brightly. Bobby was glad Sam was happy to have his dad back, and some part of Bobby was also glad the boy’s father was alive again. But he wouldn’t lie and say that he was looking forward to the coming fallout.

For the time being, at least they had the same goal: finding out what the Hell could bring someone back from death like that. 

The drive down to Pam’s had been a mostly silent affair, taking Bobby’s truck. John obviously refused to sit in the back, barely looking satisfied with shotgun, and Bobby could practically feel Dean’s displeasure at the seating arrangement, even if the teen must know that there had never been a chance of sitting up front with the two adults in the car as well. They could take another car, but Bobby knew the way to Pam’s and there wasn’t a real point in driving there in two cars. 

As expected, Pam was waiting for them, hands on her hips and smirking from her porch.

“Bobby Singer, always come crawling back here.” She teased, eyes squinting a bit with her joy of seeing him.

“Great to see you too, Pam.” Bobby led the small group to Pam’s door and she surprised him by pulling him into a hug. They were on good terms, yes, but most people in Bobby’s line of work didn’t do much physical affection.

“That new boy of yours asked me to pass that along if I saw you.” Pam explained when she pulled back. 

“‘New boy’?” Bobby repeated, raising his eyebrows. Pam rolled her eyes.

“Oh come off it Singer, everybody knows you’ve taken a shine to the Wesson kid. Stopped by last night for a quick cup of coffee. I offered to do some readings but he said he already had a usual psychic who would kick his ass if she caught him ‘cheating’.” Pam laughed, “Now, move aside. It’s not every day Lazarus himself shows up on your porch.”

“John Winchester, actually.” John corrected, putting his hand out for a shake. Pam continued to grin as she shook it.

“Who wouldn’t want to bring someone with a face like yours back from death.” Pam winked at him and Bobby caught Dean rolling his own eyes at that, arms folded. He also could see Dean ‘appraising’ Pam as well and couldn’t help but to scoff at that. 

“Not to ruin this budding relationship, but we do have some questions we’re hoping you’ll help us answer.” Bobby said.

“Right, of course. Right this way gentlemen, I’ve already got it all set up.” 

Pam brought them to her work room, as she usually called it. It was set up as one would expect a psychic’s work room to look. The room itself was perhaps once about the size of a bedroom, but with shelves and drawers and items now cluttering up the sides the room looked much smaller. There was a circular table in the middle and Bobby was a bit surprised to find there were five chairs. An elaborate tablecloth decorated it, and there were lit candles set around it. There was also a demon trap, put there from Bobby’s insistence, but Pam had placed it on the other side of the room’s door, not wanting it to accidentally interfere with any of her work. 

“How embarrassing, I was so sure there’d be five of you.” Pam made quick work of setting the extra chair out of the way. “Go ahead and sit down. So long as I can touch something our mystery entity did, we’ll be good.”

“You’re not planning to summon it, are you?” John asked as he sat down, regarding Pam with caution but, Bobby noted, not with hostility. Pam sat on John’s left and Dean on his right with Bobby between Dean and Pam.

“Of course not, I’m not that eager to find out who we’re dealing with. I’m almost hurt you think I’d be that reckless. Don’t you worry, I’m just going to see if I can get a little peek at them, maybe a name, like looking through a crystal ball.” Pam assured him. “Now, you  _ do  _ have something they touched, right? I could try running in blind but I can promise it won’t end very well.”

“It left a mark on my neck.” John supplied, twisting his neck a bit towards her.

“Alright, that’s perfect. Mmm, yes, I can already feel the leftover energy. I guess you could say it left quite the handprint behind.” Pam grinned, setting her hand on John’s neck right over the print. Dean coughed, or more accurately covered up his laugh at Pam's pun. Bobby himself chuckled. John didn’t laugh, and Bobby sobered up quickly as well. He supposed it wasn’t comforting to know that a monster had left its mark on you, one strong enough for a psychic to sense. “Alright, everybody join hands. Don’t break the circle until I tell you to.”

For a moment it was silent as Pam closed her eyes, drawing in a deep and slow breath. Bobby wasn’t a psychic and was glad for that fact, but he couldn’t help sometimes but to wonder what it was she did during things like this, how she went about it. Pam, like most psychics Bobby had known, was almost entirely self-taught. 

“I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear before this circle.” Her voice started off quiet, almost a whisper, but steadily grew in volume. If Bobby didn’t believe in the supernatural, he might’ve passed off the darkening of the shadows as a trick of the light. He was smarter than that, though, keeping an eye on the dark that started at the edges of the room and pressed closer with every passing second. The candles, in comparison, remained just as bright, if not brighter, a halo of safety. 

“Castiel?” The second that Pam said the name, the air in the room felt denser, thicker, like when a ghost was around but dialed up to a thousand. “Sorry, it’ll take more than that to scare me off.”

“Castiel?” John repeated. Pam turned to him, eyes still closed.

“Our entity’s name. He’s trying to get me to turn back. Castiel, I command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. Castiel, show me your face.” Pam continued, and with each repeat of ‘Castiel’ the air became more stifling. They were being watched, Bobby realized. They were being watched by this ‘Castiel’, and with each time they said its name, the clearer Pam could see it, the more the being could see them.

“Maybe we should stop.” Bobby suggested as calmly as he could.

“I’ve almost got him.” Pam insisted. 

“Can you ask it what it wants?” Dean asked, the first thing he’d said since they got Pam’s. All eyes turned to him. Even the weight of the mystery entity seemed to shift somewhat more towards Dean’s side of the table and Bobby felt something rising up in him. If this monster thought it was going to go after Dean…

“I invoke you, Castiel, why did you bring John Winchester back from the dead?” Pam was almost shouting by now, loud and firm in her demand. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “He says he would like to meet you.” 

“Meet me?” John said, voice more of a growl. 

“Meet… he wants to meet ‘The Righteous Men’.” Pam said, which barely clarified anything. 

It was quiet as everybody considered what Pam had said. Bobby had half a mind to break the circle before they caught themselves in too much trouble. The other part of him wanted to say yes, definitely they’d meet whatever the hell this thing was, because if it was some new monster - some new demon especially - that had popped up, they needed to start figuring it out fast. There was some kind of unrest these days, something that seemed to make monsters of all kinds more active than usual. It put Bobby on edge, and John’s return felt like the icing on top of the case, a puzzle piece that he’d been missing.

If only he had the rest of the puzzle as well. 

“What’s its terms?” John asked warily. Pam repeated the question. 

“He simply says to call his name, and he will arrive.” 

If that didn’t sound ominous, Bobby didn’t know what did. 

“Alright, that’s enough to me.” John said, looking ready to let go of Dean’s hand but still having the sense to look at Pam for confirmation. That was how most of these kinds of things went wrong, in Bobby’s experience: somebody did something really dumb at the last second. 

Pam let out a slow breath, and with it the stifling presence lifted, the shadows lightened, and the candles flickered, threatening to go out entirely before righting themselves once more. Pam was the first one to let go, the hand that had been holding Bobby’s lifting to rest on her forehead and kneed it while the one that had been settled on John’s neck fell to the table. She blinked her eyes open and then closed them again, shaking her head slightly. 

“You okay?” Bobby wasn’t sure what to do, but it seemed Pam didn’t expect him to do anything, nodding and waving off his concern.

“I’m fine, that was just… a lot more taxing than I thought it’d be. More than I even realized it was in the moment.” 

And then Pam collapsed, falling out of her seat and onto the floor.

oOo

Despite passing out, Pam ended up being fine. Her skin was a bit flushed, but not enough to be a true fever, and she woke up shortly afterwards and reassured all three of them that she was fine. Bobby and John walked off afterwards to discuss what to do with the information, but Dean hung back for a bit to talk with Pam.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He checked one last time and Pam laughed.

“Aren’t you sweet? Sorry, but you’re a little young for my tastes. I’m alright; divining like that, you never know what you’re going to get, but I’ll admit I was a little unprepared for such a presence.” Pam was in the kitchen now, pulling out some beers and setting them on the kitchen table and then rummaging around and pulling out some chinese takeout containers. 

“That’s a lot of leftovers for one person.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Would you believe me if I said I had a feeling I’d need extra?” Pam grinned and winked cheekily. God, were all psychics like this? 

“So… were you able to figure out what the monster is?” Dean pressed. 

“Sorry, didn’t get that good of a look. Think of it like trying to find a radio station, if the radio station was also moving around; I was starting to catch the right frequency, but he seemed to be purposefully trying to avoid me. I’m sure you felt it, though. Whatever we’re looking for, it’s pretty strong. I’m a bit surprised that something with that much power hasn’t shown up on my radar before.” Pam mused while systematically placing take-out containers in the microwave, heating them up, and them replacing them with others. “Why don’t you set the table, Bobby and John will be back in in a minute.”

It took a hot second for Dean to find the plates and forks, and by the time he had Bobby and his dad did indeed come into the kitchen.

“So, summoning it?” Pam said conversationally. Bobby sighed and sat down in one of the chairs, not even questioning the lunch already prepared and serving himself portions. John followed suit.

“Looks like the best option we have. If it’s already aware of me, then we might as well meet it on our own terms if possible, get prepared for anything that might come at us.” John said and he definitely didn’t seem pleased about it. Dean had to agree. The idea of purposefully shouting their location to a monster went against everything he’d ever been taught. But he also had to agree that waiting for the monster to approach them was worse than choosing to approach it themselves. 

“Do you boys need any more of my help?” Pam asked. Bobby shook his head.

“Nothing that comes to mind. I’ve already got a place in mind for the summoning. We’ll be rigging it up with every trap we can find, stocking it with every weapon we have on hand. Whatever this thing is, it can’t be pretty.” Bobby took a swig of his bear.

Dean didn’t shift uncomfortably in his chair, but… well, he knew it was a monster, he knew it was going to be big and bad and possibly more powerful than anything they’ve ever fought before. He knew that, but… it had brought his dad back. They didn’t know its reason yet, and if they attacked it and did kill it when they summoned it, they might never know. 

“Should you really be going on the offensive already?” Pam said and when he looked over her eyes were twinking. He blinked in surprise as he realized that Pam had in a very literal sense voiced his thoughts, knowing that he wouldn’t. 

“Are you saying you think we should get all buddy-buddy with this monster?” John challenged. Pam didn’t look perturbed in the slightest, simply shrugging.

“Not necessarily, but that’s always been a bit of problem with you Hunters, you know; you shoot first and forget to ask questions at all.” 

“Maybe so, but better to attack before it has the chance to.” John countered. 

“Hm, yes, I can certainly see that point.” Pam hummed. “Well, I won’t be there so I suppose I don’t really get a say. Stay safe you three.”

Lunch was a short affair considering both Bobby and John seemed eager to get ahead with the summoning. Dean ended up taking some of Pam’s leftovers at the woman’s insistence. While the food went into one of the takeout containers, the metal fork was offered with a simple ‘just return it when I see you again’ that Dean was caught between thinking was just a normal thing or Pam implying that she knew they’d need to see her for help again. 

He quickly decided that trying to interpret everything Pam was saying was too much effort and just took the fork, eating the chinese food on the ride back to Bobby’s. 

The supplies they needed was collected and loaded into the back of Bobby’s truck. This time, John did drive the impala as having to take all of their weapons out of there and into Bobby’s truck and then taking them out when they got to their destination was much more effort than just taking a second car. Nobody mentioned waiting for Sammy, which was probably just as well. If things went south, Dean felt better knowing Sammy wasn’t there. 

It took a couple hours to get all of the sigils up and set out the weapons. By the end Dean couldn’t smell anything over the overpowering spraypaint and kept sneezing regularly. The three of them were standing at the back of the warehouse Bobby had picked out for the summoning. Not that it was much a summoning, if it was really as easy as Pam had made it sound like. 

“Well, if it’s already got eyes on me, I guess I should be the one to call it.” John offered. He was holding a gun loaded with silver bullets. Dean had been given one with bullets marked with carefully carved demon traps. Bobby’s gun was just a typical shotgun with salt rounds. There were other guns loaded with different bullets right next to them, and if the monster got close enough they also had all manner of knives. 

Whatever it was, there was no way it was prepared for everything Dean, John, and Bobby had to throw at it. 

“Castiel, we’re willing to meet with you.” 

Like before, the pressure change was almost immediate upon the name - the one none of them had dared to so much as whisper until they’d had the whole warehouse ready - was poken. 

The lights on the warehouse became brighter and brighter until they shattered altogether, as if overloaded, and with the overcast nature of the day the warehouse was plunged into near darkness. 

At the other end of the warehouse, Dean could see a humanoid figure approaching. 

All three Hunters opened fire. 

The bullets hit the monster, but barely even made the monster hesitate in its steady pace forward, drawing closer to them. Nothing seemed to have any lasting effect. If they did any true damage it was impossible to tell. 

When all of the guns had been cycled through by the Hunters with no success, John grabbed two of the knives, one in each hand, and rushed at the monster. Both Bobby and Dean saw the knives stab into the monster, and watched as the monster tapped his fingers to John’s temples and he crumpled to the ground. 

Dean’s heart stopped in his chest.

That was it. That had to be it, the other shoe, the ‘no good things happen to the Winchesters’, what Dean had been waiting for since last night. The monster had brought Dad back to life and just as easily and killed him again. 

“Stay behind me!” Bobby barked, stepping forward and holding his own pair of knives. The figure came closer, knives still sticking out of its shoulder.

“Fear not.” The being said, voice a deep rumble. 

“Don’t you come any closer.” Bobby growled, and the being’s head tilted to the side curiously.

“You are the ones who called for me, are you not?” It said, and it sounded genuinely confused. Neither Bobby nor Dean had any reply for that. “Fear not, I have not come to fight you. It would appear that perhaps that sentiment is not mutual.” 

“Not when you just killed John.” The monster drew closer, and Bobby took his chance to spring forward, stabbing one knife into the monster’s stomach and using the other to slash its throat. For a fraction of a second, the knife opened a wound on the monster’s neck, but it healed over the slice quickly and with no apparent effort. Just like with John, the monster touched Bobby’s forehead and Bobby fell to the ground.

“You son of a bitch.” Dean took a step backwards in spite of himself, glaring at the monster, this ‘Castiel’. He was even more relieved now that Sam was here, but he regretted that they might be leaving his brother alone. No, he couldn’t do that, he needed to find a way to get out of here, to get to safety. 

“Be still, Dean Winchester, your father and friend are both well, simply put to sleep so that we may talk without interruption.” Castiel, at last, stopped walking forward. As it spoke, its hands so calmly and carefully grabbed the knives embedded in it and pulled them out, letting them fall to the floor. 

“Yeah, right.” Dean snorted, he had a knife in his hand as well, but he found himself hesitating in trying to fight the monster. At this point, he was holding it mostly for his own comfort. 

“I would never lie to you, Dean Winchester, but you may ascertain these facts for yourself if you must.” 

With utmost caution, Dean went forward. He didn’t like getting closer to the monster, but he did want to know if Bobby and John had died. He kept an eye on it, but it didn’t move other than the shifting of its eyes and head to keep staring at Dean. Relief swept through Dean when he felt the steady pulse of Bobby’s blood from the vein on his neck. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until now. He went further, to his dad, and found him to be alive as well, just as the monster had claimed. Dean allowed himself a second to try and slow his heart, to try and rid himself of all the idea of having to care for Sam on his own and burning their dad for a second time, this time followed by their uncle. 

“So, what? You just come to watch us make fools of ourselves?” Dean sneered as he stood back up. 

“Again, you are the ones who wanted to make contact with me. I will admit that I have been waiting patiently for the time to contact you to come, and am pleased it has finally arrived.” God, this thing sounded like it’d swallowed a dictionary. Dean found himself rolling his eyes and then forced himself to focus up. This was still a monster, and a crazy powerful one. He couldn't drop his guard so quickly. 

“Why did you knock my dad out then? Isn’t he who you wanted to talk to so desperately you rose him from the dead?” Dean demanded.

“It is true, yes, that I am the one who gripped John Winchester’s soul tight and rose him from perdition, but it was not so much for his own benefit as for yours, Dean Winchester. Your father is an offering to you from Heaven.” Castiel explained. Dean couldn't help the snort of laughter that came out of him.

“Heaven? Really? And what does that make you?” 

“An angel of the lord.” 

“An angel. Really. That was the best you could come up with?” Dean almost regretted voicing his dismissal as it made Castiel’s head tilt to side once more and start to walk forward again. Now that he was relatively sure it wasn’t going to kill him at a moment’s notice, though, he was able to take in its appearance. The monster was dressed in a rather nice looking three-piece suit, clearly more expensive than any of the ones Dean had ever owned. His hair was short and messy blonde while his eyes were a startling and piecing Blue, electric as they looked at Dean, seemingly staring right through him. 

Yeah, Dean did not like this thing at all.

“You do not believe.” It wasn’t a a question.

“Hell no. You can’t stand there and expect me to believe in a ‘Heaven’ or ‘angels’ or a ‘God’ with all the shit I’ve seen.” Dean’s words made the monster frown. 

“You have no faith.” Castiel frowned. 

“No.” Dean confirmed. 

“You are destined for greatness, Dean Winchester. Your lack of faith will not aid you in the trials to come.” Castiel took another step forward and Dean’s grip on his knife tightened.

“Is that a threat?” 

“It is a fact.” Outside, lightning that shouldn’t’ve been there crackled and flashed, casting shadows in the warehouse. And of the shadows, on either side of Castiel’s silhouette, wings spread out, large and too detailed to have been casted by anything that had been brought into the room. “There are some, who need shows of miracles first. It would seem your father was not enough?” 

“Angels aren’t real.” Dean said again but his voice sounded small. No, angels weren’t real, they couldn’t be real, there was no way in Hell this monster was an angel. But Dean was at a loss for what it must’ve been, what would make sense. Nothing of this made sense.

“Perhaps you need time. We do not have much, but you shall have until morning. Until them, I do have some advice to impart upon you.”

“Yeah?” Dean rose his eyebrows. He’d listen to any bullshit if it meant the monster would leave him to double check the health of his family. 

“Be wary of Seth Wesson. He is more than he seems.”

And with the sound of fluttering wings, the monster was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I've got some things I need to make clear:
> 
> I am not caught up in spn and don't really care to be, so a lot of things in this fact probably won't work with post-season 9 canon (I'm looking at you Chuck characterization). However, I'm still interested in finishing this fic and I hope that that fact won't turn people off of it :) (and I'm glad if any of you are caught up that you still enjoy spn). 
> 
> I'm also not going to have Destiel. I know, I know, people love the ship, but Castiel is going to be using Jimmy's dad as a vessel in this au, so it just aint happening folks sorry to disappoint. 
> 
> That being said, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! I have some fun things planned for the next part :D

**Author's Note:**

> That's right baby, I'm back at it. Although i make slow slow progress on this fic, I do have intentions on finishing it :) I'm real curious to hear all of your thoughts on the fic, as well as wheere you think it's going. I did leave some (pretty obvious) hints on where I'm planning to go with this


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